Final Cut
by YamiKatie
Summary: At school, Ryou appears an ordinary boy. A little lonely perhaps, but perfectly normal. But underneath the smile lies a secret. And no, its not that he has a yami, or that he is abused by one. It's something very different... self harm.


(A/N: One person commented that they didn't really like reading self-injury fics, as nine times out of ten the authors had no idea what they were talking about, and also because they knew someone who self-harmed. Therefore I would just like to say that I take their point, but as someone who had self-harmed in the past, I feel I have a right to include self-harm, as I know how a person feels when they do it. OK?  
  
PG-13 only because I want to be safe, as there isn't anything really bad here. Well, a bit of violence, and some fluff between Ryou and Bakura. THERE IS NO YAOI! I'm just saying this in case anyone has any doubts. THIS IS NOT A YAOI FIC!!! Basically, I wanted to portray their relationship in a different way other than abuse/friendly/yaoi. Let me know what you think of it all. And also, this is a ONE SHOT which means I will NOT BE CONTINUING IT, OK?!)  
  
Final Cut.  
  
The door creaked mournfully open and Bakura glanced carelessly upwards. "Hey, host. You're home soon. School finish early?"  
  
"Hai." Ryou flowed gracefully into the chair next to his other.  
  
"Fun?"  
  
"Of course." The hikari's melodious voice was now filled with mocking sarcasm, sharpening his tone.  
  
"You're bored."  
  
"Yeah. After all, I have no social life, virtually no friends, nowhere to hang out and enjoy the carefree innocence of my adolescent years. Why wouldn't I be bored?"  
  
"You still have me," his yami murmured silkily.  
  
"I know, I know. Who could forget?" Ryou eyed his wrists hungrily. "You have any knives?"  
  
"Of course." Bakura drew one out of his pocket and handed it to him. The blade glittered in the afternoon light. The hikari took it without a word and began, methodically, to cut his arm. Half-healed slits from the previous week were reopened and the first drops of scarlet blood came welling up, startling beads of colour against his white skin.  
  
Bakura slipped one arm around the slim back, the other closing over the knife-hand. "Let me do it."  
  
Ryou inclined his head emotionlessly. The seemingly carefree puppy-dog eyes had become hooded, secrets crowded behind the shutters. He leaned back against the sofa, stiffening slightly as Bakura brought the knife nearer, then relaxing as again the blade penetrated his skin. "Harder..." the hikari breathed. "You're holding back..."  
  
"You're very demanding today yadonushi," his yami commented dryly. In response, Ryou brought up his other arm and hugged him tightly. His yami abandoned the weapon and pulled him closer, sharing his warmth. The two halves lay entwined around each other, their hearts beating together.  
  
Bakura's body arched as his light climbed on top of him, curling himself around the body so similar yet so different to his own. Was he going to...?  
  
The mental barriers were still up, but Ryou suddenly backed down as if reading his yami's thoughts. Only partially disappointed, Bakura pushed him roughly off, and Ryou scrambled upright as if nothing had happened. The passionate look had faded from his deep chestnut eyes, to be replaced with a different sort of longing.  
  
Ryou bent down and picked up the bloodstained knife from under the sofa, where his yami had discarded it. "Hurt me," he whispered softly. It wasn't a request.  
  
He saw Bakura hesitate. "Yadonushi..."  
  
"Come on aibou," Ryou stressed the word deliberately. He rolled up his sleeve, revealing an arm dotted with faint silvery scars. Submitting, snuggling closer, his dark pressed the dagger into the pale arm. Waves of hurt rolled over his slight body and Ryou welcomed them whole-heartedly, mentally embracing the pain. (Deeper...)  
  
Bakura obeyed, and his light let out a faint moan of pleasure. The redness trickled down his arm and the sprit licked it up, tongue lovingly caressing the young skin. ((Don't they notice at school? Surely you get comments, about the scars at least.))  
  
Ryou barked out a weary laugh. "As if anyone cared. Aibou, you're overestimating my popularity. I doubt anyone would notice if I stumbled in with a broken leg."  
  
The ancient spirit snorted quietly. "With looks like yours, I'm surprised you don't come back at three each morning with a different girl around your waist, my little host. Although it's not your fault you're such a bishounen."  
  
His yadonushi gave a tired smile. "You sounded so gay just then. I thought you had some sort of secret. Now I know."  
  
"You'd like to think so, wouldn't you?" Bakura's tone was lazy, drawling. "Host, one day I'm going to get right inside you. You won't want to hold back."  
  
"Maybe." The hikari sounded disinterested now, but hacking into his arm more ferociously than before. It seemed as if something essential had dissipated; the cuts he was making looked almost random.  
  
"Woah." The spirit reached out hastily, halting the knife's warpath. "Careful, host. Not the wrists. You slit those and you won't get up in a hurry."  
  
"What's the point?" A pause. "It's just one cut. And I don't care if it hurts. You know I don't." There was fire in Ryou's eyes as he gazed dreamily down at the dagger in his hand. It hovered over his wrist like a hawk, poised to drive through the air and seize its unresisting prey.  
  
His yami saw the strange look in his hikari's eyes and filed it away for later. "You need to stop that, my fiery little host." He reached over gently and plucked the knife from his lighter half, who didn't put up much of a fight.  
  
Ryou gave an angry sort of sigh, yet moved lightly closer to his yami. "Why did you have to do that?"  
  
"To make you understand." Bakura raised an eyebrow questioningly as his yadonushi stared back at him, scrutinising him closely, then exhaled slowly and laid his head peaceably onto the spirit's lap. "Death isn't the answer. You hear me?"  
  
Ryou didn't meet his eyes. (Mmm-hmm.)  
  
"You gonna look at me when I'm talking to you?"  
  
(No.)  
  
((Cheeky little landlord,)) the Ring-sprit grumbled to himself. ((You've been getting more insolent lately. Is it time for another 'lesson?'))  
  
Ryou shrugged, feigning indifference. (I don't mind.) He burrowed more deeply into his yami's lap. (Go on. Hurt me. I dare you.)  
  
The spirit groaned in defeat. "Normally I never turn down a dare, but hurting you isn't so much fun if you enjoy it. You some kind of masochist?"  
  
"No." There was no hesitation in Ryou's answer.  
  
"Pity. It would save me a lot of trouble." Bakura stroked his host's soft snowy hair as the light changed position slightly, white bangs settling around his face. Ryou was exhausted, but didn't really feel like sleeping just yet. Although being around his yami made him feel safe. Safe from everything but himself.  
  
Feeling his host's slightly troubled thoughts, the spirit rocked him gently from side to side, soothing him. The hikari smiled faintly. (I like it when you do that.)  
  
Bakura cast his gaze downward towards his lighter half, whose eyes were closed. There was the hint of content lingering on the pale lips. Contemplating him, the spirit felt absurdly protective feelings rise up within him, and tried instinctively to quell them. These emotions were foreign, unwelcome to his mind, and yet...the way his hikari just lay there, so trusting...he suddenly looked so vulnerable.  
  
Acting on impulse, he cuddled his host, feeling him safe and secure in his arms. Ryou murmured sleepily and his yami felt the last of the overstrung mind finally settle down and be still.   
  
He rested a pale hand lightly on his vessel's ivory hair, feeling the creamy mass shift slightly under his slender fingers. There was a hairbrush lying on the table nearby and he reached for it. Gently he ran it through Ryou's hair, carefully teasing out the tangled tresses.  
  
Wishing his own hair would behave as well as his hikari's did, the spirit carefully replaced the hairbrush on the wooden table. Running his fingers absently though his shock of white hair, he tried for a moment to tame the unruly mane, but it still stubbornly insisted on springing up into spiky horns. ((Stupid thing. Oh well.))  
  
He sat up and surveyed his host, who was spread along the sofa, long thin limbs hanging untidily over the side. Pushing him towards the back, Bakura lay down next to him. The Ring jangled loudly, spikes waving in apparent protest. Slightly irritated, the sprit put up a hand automatically and stilled the movement. To his satisfaction the dim glow faded, and the Item lay still and unmoving on his chest.  
  
When he and Ryou were in the same body the Ring tended to be colder, sapping some of its host's natural warmth. This no longer happened to Bakura when he separated, for the simple reason that he had no warmth left to give. He was dead cold. Literally.  
  
The spirit suppressed an annoyed mutter at this thought, instead snuggling even closer to his living host, looking at him again as he did so. The light-switch was just behind his makeshift bed, and one hand groped drowsily along the wall to try and find it. Eventually it was located, and light was extinguished from the room. Bakura closed his eyes. ((Night, yadonushi.)) 


End file.
